"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
There were few things in this world that could breathe fire back into the cold woman. In all honesty, she wondered if there was anything left that could inspire a reaction or if she would be responsible for creating her own fire for the rest of eternity. Not that that would pose a problem. Anaxarete had always been creative, to say the very least. She had no problem providing both the fuel and the spark for the flame and nurturing that flicker into an inferno.
But today, such a thing was unnecessary.
Today, Beqanna exploded into a world of sparks and flames and ash while most of the population stood by, unaware.
She could feel the changes rippling through the very earth between their hooves. The shadow mare knew immediately what the thrum of magic meant - she needed no explanation for the changes.For she had been waiting for this moment for decades.
No longer would she be banished to distant headlands or to the service of kingdoms that would never truly hold her allegiance. The shadow-mare wouldn't have to amuse herself spreading mindless chaos from the darkness any longer. The barriers keeping her from what she wanted most had been obliterated.
Her eyes flickered with something that had been dormant for far too long. And that flicker made her more dangerous than she had been in decades.
Because the woman once characterized by ice and cold was burning.
She was alive.
The Chamber had taken Atrox's heart; but it had taken her soul all those years ago. She never dreamed of asking for it back. Anaxarete hadn't questioned the turn of events that had kept her on the fringes of her kingdom - the gifts she possessed had all been granted to her either by the Chamber or won in the service of the Chamber. It didn't matter anymore. The doors to her home were open to her once again.
She didn't hesitate. In a swirl of shadow and sparks, she was gone.
***
She appeared in the center of the kingdom that she had always called home - even when she couldn't. She didn't respect borders or wait for permission to enter. This was her place, her home, and it always had been. The shadow-mare had little doubt she would be noticed.
The shadows, as always, swirled just enough to indicate that there is more that meets the eye with the little gray mare, but aside from that she stands patiently - ordinary as ever - with life flickering in her cold blue eyes.
A N A X A R E T E
MAGIC. IMMORTAL. PSYCHOKINETIC. ALLIANCE WINNER. THREE TIMES A QUEEN.
07-06-2015, 02:07 AM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2015, 02:08 AM by Engelsfors.)
OOC: Hope you don't mind me posting xD
If you do, I can delete?
Drink thy poison lightly dear, ♦♢♦
I wonder of dreams and nightmares, of sleepless nights and constrained thoughts, wandering along the midnight hour. I dream in black and white, my dreams are like splintered ice in my fingers, hurtful, painful. That is why I don't sleep. In the throes of the sandman, you never can truly depict reality from the celluloid thoughts. It's in my sleepless nights, I take to patrolling the boarders. Creamy locks like spun moonlight against my gilded body. I am hardly a ghost, flickering in and out of view, sliding against the bark with an unbridled elegance. Ash and dirt clings to me, claiming me furthermore for the chamber's good cause. The ash is unsettled tonight, the spirals dance around the very heart of the kingdom, like magical fingers probing the darkness.
It isn't the only thing different tonight. The beat within the ground, it has increased. Not just the dull thud you could miss without a week attuned ear. It seemed feral, unbridled in its pounding. I can imagine every bone of that proverbial rib cage had snapped with the tremors. My cerulean eyes, hauntingly bright in the midnight Rays, drink in the clearing. There's something amiss, I feel the throb of the earth, the delicate bend of the pines seen taller, guarding an unseen presence with a stronger hold than normal.
And then, the phantom appears.
I'm a paling gold in the shadows, mulling on the edge when I see her appear; she regards no boundaries and no courtesy, but the way she stands, the way the chamber seems to greet her, she is no mere stranger. My long, willowy legs peel away the earth with elongated strides, covering the ground like a stealthy wolf, until I fall upon the clearing. Ash stained gold, rippled plumes of creamy mane falling into my brilliant azure eyes, that find her then, the phantom, so casual, so real. But the pinpricks in the air make be ponder different, the cool wisps part the thick ash in the air like nothing, and the pulse in the earth has intensified. This mare is no mere unknown wanderer. The chamber regards her like s long lost lover, a confidant of many noon turns. And I give her that satisfaction with a curt grin and velvet words.
'You aren't a stranger here, not really.' my pause is eternal, gilt ears turning and catching the night noises like well spin webs. 'to me, certainly. But to the Chamber... She greets you with far more than normality.' the raging pulse throbs against my feet, the moist earth falling apart as I walk a good few paces nearer, my eyes are quaint, regarding her with the same amount of respect that the lady chamber gives. I dip my nose, salmon nares breathing in her heady scent. 'I'm Engelsfors.' because manners don't ho unnoticed, I spin them like well made threads. Eyes drinking her in, her phantom body, the crackle in the air. My eyes sparks of blue lightning, alive, torrenting spires of shrouded black magic.
♦♢♦
there are deeper and darker things than you;
professor of the chamber
html by magpie77 - photo manip by beequeen - character by magpie77
Straia has always known what happens inside the border of her kingdom rather quickly. She keeps a keen eye out, and weaves through the trees with ease, a shadow that watches. But now, with the ravens that fly above their heads, she knows even faster. One of her newfound friends dips low, landing on her shoulder and digging its claws into her flesh. She feels warm blood trickle slightly, but she doesn’t mind. All magic has a price. This is something she has always known. Perhaps thanks to Eight, in that meeting so long ago in the meadow. Perhaps because it simply makes sense.
The raven caws, though Straia understands the meaning behind the sound. And then, as quickly as it had come, the raven takes off and back into the sky. Her ravens circle everywhere. Not just the Chamber, but the other kingdoms as well. They keep out of sight as best they can, spending less time in the Deserts and the Valley where they are likely to be spotted by the resident magicians. Eventually, she knows she’ll need to be careful in the Gates too. Though at least in the Gates and the Valley, ravens are commonplace. In the Deserts, they can only pass by now and again, pretending to be lost.
Straia weaves through the trees until she can see the gray mare with shadows dancing at her feet. Engelsfors is already approaching, and for a moment, Straia lets the palomino take the lead. It’s good to see new recruits throwing themselves into life in the Chamber so wholeheartedly. But she knows that this particular visitor is more than meets the eye. Not just the shadows at her feet either, but the ravens have told her everything they know. A name, a few stories. Some of her pets are old enough to remember more recent stories. The Dale, particularly.
She slips out of the trees as Engelsfors begins to talk, close enough to catch her words at this point, and sliding into the small group as the palomino introduces herself. “Like a lover, I’d say,” she says, her voice smoky as always. Raven feathers ring her head, a fun little thing Straia had been playing with as of late. Really, she wanted to get it right so she could show Eight. Just to prove exactly what she had become. Something so much greater than the princess he called to the meadow, to the girl that he gave a crown made of flowers. “Straia. But you already knew that, didn’t you Anaxarete?”
It was like what one may describe as a 'disturbance in the force.' What that meant for Killdare, was the distinct change in smells that rolled through the pines. His nares flexed as her scented, trying to discern just what that new smell was. Perhaps another of the herd had had some luck in the field, bringing home yet another new addition to their steadily growing numbers. The chamber had been fruitful of late. He had seen several new faces, timidly trailing behind one of his own known family. They had been blessed. That coupled with the surprising visit from the fairies, and his Queens newly gained powers. Well, let's just say Killdare had high hopes for their growing Kingdom.
His curiosity and sense of duty unrelenting, Killdare made his way through the pines. Gently caressing each one with his barrel as he progressed, rolling against the bark. It may have seemed strange to some, his progression marked with scenting, the occasional taste of the earth. Much like a hound he followed his nose as he broke through the cover of the wood. He could feel that familiar thud thud thud against his daggers, the pace seeming quickened and urgent. Whatever, or whoever had come was stirring up feelings in the heart of the Chamber. He quickened then, only giving him more steam as he caught sight of Straia's ravens moving with intent, the flicker of spun gold in the distance told him Engel was already there.
He knew very well they could both take care of themselves, however his sense of purpose told him he need be there. Alert, a backdrop to the Queen and his herd, in case he was needed. The rest of the way seemed merely breaths long, he weaved in claiming a spot near the Queens thigh. His placement behind but between the two females, a silent sentinel he stood. A mare of smoke, and mirrors stared back at them. Anaxarete . Killdare caught just the name emerging from Straia's maw, he met the strangers cold blue eyes with his own sea glass stare.
He was mindful of her, inclined that there was some sort of sorcery in the clearing, and it was not his Queen's ravens.
If he thought he was attuned to the Chamber before, he knew nothing.
His knowledge previously is nothing compared to how he sees it now. He can almost feel the way the heat radiates off of the new bodies, the way that the air currents ripple, bringing subtle temperature changes as they go. He feels it almost as soon as his mother's ravens would see it. But this time, it is not simply someone wandering in across the border. This time, the ripples come right from the center of the kingdom.
He comes to her, joining their little party, taking his place beside his mother. He must look strange, although perhaps not to the magic mare. He is currently a wine-red with a mane and tail of dark blue and dark green. He still holds himself with the same strong military bearing he's always had; beneath his wine-red color, he's still the same servant of the Chamber, the same clean-cut soldier-boy that he's always been. Except that he's been broken beyond reason, and has endured. He's seen horrors that should be impossible, and come through unscathed. And now? Now he can read the way the heat eddies and flows around them all. He can make the air burst into flames. He, it would seem, can command the heat.
Anaxarete seems different from the rest of them, as though hot and cold both dance around her in a way that they don’t with normal horses. He's still no expert in his newfound gift, unable to quite parse what it means, but he's certain that it doesn't mean anything normal. Normal is Engelsfors, or Killdare, or Straia (most of the time, when her ravens aren't too elemental. The elemental ravens throw the whole thing off).
His mother speaks, naming the mare, and Erebor considers her politely. He doesn't remember her name from any of the stories, and his memory is normally quite sharp. But his mother seems to know her, and she seems to know the Chamber, and whatever she's doing here doesn't seem to be with bad intentions. And that's enough for him. "Welcome home." his voice is rich and handsome, the kind of voice that any hero should have. But he's no hero; his morality is the Chamber, his mission is to serve her. "I'm Erebor. A pleasure to meet you."
She could feel the pulse of the Chamber as soon as her hooves touched its rich soil. Both the Chamber's physical pulse - one gifted to it by the panther - as well as the pulse of all those who had pledged themselves to this place. She was pleased that she found there was life stirring beneath her feet - there were not stagnant bodies or empty minds wandering her beloved kingdom. There was life her - there was promise here.
It livened her further.
Puzzle pieces that had been left abandoned for so long were beginning to fall into place. The world was finally coming to order. What that order would look like was entirely in the hands of them - the heartbeats she felt beneath her hooves. She has no plans to conquer or to rule - only to watch her home grow into something Beqanna would remember. Her legacy would be forever linked with this place - this place would forever be a part of her. And she would ensure it would thrive.
The palomino slides from the shadows first - her name filling the shadow mare's mind before the woman is near enough to hear. A promising new face to the Chamber, it seems. They are not alone, the cold woman knows this, but she does not turn her attention from the golden woman. "I have never been a stranger here," the shadow mare breathes in that calm, cool voice - unchanged by the centuries. "Unforseen circumstances parted me from the only home I've ever known. But, as always, circumstances can change," something resembling a grin flashes upon her lips and dies again just as quickly. "My trips back to this place have been few and far between due to powers that I could not control." She thinks of her most recent return - extinguishing the fires sent by the Valley's dragons. Her distrust for the southern kingdom has always burned hot but it was the cold within that had saved the Chamber. "But it is time to come home now that the barriers have been stripped away."
"It is nice to meet you, Engelsfors." Her gaze smoothly slides over to the painted queen crowned in feathers. "And you, Straia. It is nice to find the Chamber in such capable hands." It has been too long since there had been someone at the helm of the Chamber with the capacity to maximize potential - to take risks - to dare where others stuck were content to stick to what kept them safe. Anaxarete saw nothing but potential.
"Killdare," she says, pulling his name from the air before turning to him, "Join us. I assure you that I will not bite." And she would not - she had left the creatures who had earned her such a gruesome reputation somewhere where they, and everyone else, would be safe. She would call upon them if and when they were needed. Not before then. And then the warrior-prince joins them - one who has recently evolved into something…more. He who had been broken had been reborn. She could relate to that, in her own way. "Erebor," she offers, with a nod. Diplomacy - though no longer her forte by any means - was not lost on her entirely.
"I suppose I should let you all know why I've interrupted you all this evening," she begins, though she isn't particularly concerned with the interruption.
"As you know Beqanna itself has breathed new life into this kingdom - the magic of the Chamber has returned to these lands. And with this rebirth, of sorts, those of us who were formerly gifted by the Chamber herself are now free to come home. That's why I've returned - I'm finally free to serve the Chamber once more, in whatever capacity she requires." Her icy gaze flicks between the four who have come - the diplomat, the warrior, the prince, and the queen.
Again the shadow mare pledges herself to this place. She will become whatever it needs - a servant, a protector, an advisor to the next generation - anything to have a purpose once more.
A N A X A R E T E
MAGIC. IMMORTAL. PSYCHOKINETIC. ALLIANCE WINNER. THREE TIMES A QUEEN.
i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
He knows too well what it feels like to come home. Too often he had either strayed or been forced from the borders of him home, and each time he returned was more gratifying than the last. The familiar coolness of the dark shadows, the stirring echo of ravens cawing from the tree tops. It all brought back memories, both good and bad, but memories nonetheless. Of all the things he’s forgotten in his long life, he’s never forgotten a moment spent here in these borders. The heart that beats just beneath the ground is the same heart that beats steady in his own chest, and in the chest of his stalwart son. The blood that has flowed over this ground in the same blood that flows within his veins. It is because of this land that a part of his soul is owned by a magician, for no matter how often he strays he can’t imagine ever staying gone.
The shadows stir in the center of the kingdom, and the old black warrior watches with a sort of curiosity tamped with reservation. Perhaps it was Eight, coming to call up some other useless debt. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of his mind. He watches carefully, seeing a small gray figure materialize at the center of the smoke. It isn’t Eight, but its someone Warship knows by sight if not by actually meeting. Anaxarete, queen how many times over? Perhaps he had even served under her at some point; he’s served so long, he can’t always remember. Never the less, he knows this mare, knows she shared a connection with his father. The black stallion waits in his own natural shadow-home as the others file towards her, drawn to her like moths drawn hopelessly to an open flame. He doesn’t notice, but with her arrival, his infinity symbol glowed bright, brighter than it had ever done. Finally he moves towards the group, muscles rippling beneath his tattered coat. The stallion comes to rest beside his son, identical except for their coloring now. “You knew my father.” he says simply, tilting his head a bit as he regards her carefully. He knew the rumors, and knew that beneath that iron grey coat lay great reserves on magic. “I’m Warship. Welcome back. Its always good to see old faces return.” and he meant it. If she were here to serve, then the Chamber would certainly be glad to have her.
07-20-2015, 07:29 AM (This post was last modified: 07-20-2015, 07:29 AM by Engelsfors.)
Let's love like seventeen,
I'm in love with poisoning.
Only bring your pretty, frightful gifts to me.
Let's love and kill like seventeen now.
The shadows move like liquid, tangible and ink-like. Like blots upon paper the blackness does nothing but expand and taint the backdrop of the chamber. I am most comfortable in the swath of darkness, like many of the residents here, but this darkness, this inky blackness is almost suffocating. Unseen tendrils reach out and clutch my throat, kiss my skin like a bittersweet memory of years past. I curl my lips, finding the sizzle in the air crackle and clip. I am still getting used to the myriad of difference here in Beqanna, and I'm certain regardless how many years my hooves touch this soil, I will never know the true extent of the magic that pulses beneath the earth. I am clear on one thing, and that is the phantom mare before me, her iron skin, her ice cold eyes. She was magic, every vein of her throbbed with the aroma of a uniqueness, a becoming trait. I watch her quietly, as intrigued as always and as respectful as I was. I dip my nose, watching as the shadows disperse and in it's place come the raven Queen. I nod, an incline of my salmon tinged nose. 'Straia.' I acknowledge, and my gilt ears turn and capture her fine words. Anaxarete the way it's said almost brings a chill to my bones, and it is mightily delightful. The way the trees seem to whisper her name in unison -- oh yes, she has graced this grounds before, many a time it would seem, so much so that the chamber still bends to her will.
Killdare appears. I never doubted that he wouldn't. Perhaps a bit slower than normal. He is wary, as of course it to be expected. We our foreigners to Beqanna's mysterious realm, and are still adjusting to the unique magic that whips and whirls their tentative fingers among the lives. Weaving in a strange new DNA. I nod my head to him, a prickly smile touching my lips. Then another, the newly painted Erebor, a stark contrast against the shadows that he used to be. I drop my nose once more, respect given as always. Then my sapphire gaze is drawn back to Anaxarete, she addresses me and my ears turn, capturing each one of her whispered black magic spells. Something sticks to her, a tantalising allure, something that seems to draw others in. I am certain she is like a clever black widow, perhaps even more deadly. I cock my head ever so slightly to the left, before offering each and all a whimsical stare, before bittersweet poison touches my lips. 'The Chamber bends and bows to you, Madam Anaxarete. There is much history between the two of you. Many tales I'm sure that can go on for hours.' I swallow and slip my salmon tongue over my drying lips, 'But no one is here for simple stories, are they?' I turn an eye to Straia, Killdare, Erebor and then the newly appeared ebony steed; Warship. I've heard Straia talk of him, the Army leader, Erebor's sire. I nod a simple greeting to him before I weave mown black magic, husky and cool. 'Welcome back, back home, Madam Anaxarete.' the iron lady is sure things have changed, by the simple rhythm beneath them. The sapling is growing in the outskirts, a whole new spell cast upon the land. The ravens circle overhead, ebony feathers falling at feet, caws becoming as much the nightly sounds as the wolves cry or the owl's hoot. Silently my sapphire orbs pick out parts of everything; the hushed breaths, the strangled thoughts and the true words that long to be whispered from pursed lips. I roll my golden shoulders ever so, sliding my creamy plume gently over my hocks. 'It is good to be part of this picture... If there is anything I can do to make sure that your stay is more appropriate, please do not hesitate to ask.' Because I will take burdens upon my willowy shoulders as many here would, and I will help any that the Chamber sees worthy, and Anaxarete, she was perhaps someone that even the Chamber had shuddered at. I turn my gaze briefly to Straia, sapphire eyes watchful. She's had quite the welcoming party, a foray of sorts, I am just pushing the preverbal boat out, seeing if one so highly respected needed anything to make her stay much more comfortable.
Let's love like seventeen,
I'm in love with your new screams.
Only bring those pretty, frightful gifts to me.
Let's love and kill like seventeen now.
It doesn’t shock her that her kingdom flocks to the appearance of a magician. Ana doesn’t announce herself as such, but the way the land reacts implies some otherness to the iron lady. And her kingdom, if nothing else, was in tune with the land they called home. But of course, it wasn’t really if nothing else because the horses that called this place home were so much more. They were dedicated and loyal and served the Chamber with their whole hearts. She could ask for nothing more. And when they come, though she is not surprised, she is pleased.
Even Warship, ever so late to the party, had finally decided to grace his home with his presence once more. He had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but for the moment, she is content to let them all talk and banter. It’s clear he knows Ana in a way the rest of them do not, from generations past in which none of them had lived.
Ana swears to serve the Chamber, and Straia can’t help but grin slightly. Not because of the capable hands comment (though she’s glad the magician holds no qualms with her rule, because despite the ravens, Straia stands no chance against a magical mutiny). But because with a magician, they didn’t need the Falls. They didn’t need to worry as much about what the Deserts might choose to do. They had Ana in their court, and assuming the Valley remained vaguely loyal and useful, they had Eight as well. Straia was still trying to track down Lu’s mother, just to see if she couldn’t ensure another magician in their court. Though Lu’s mother was not well known for sticking around much.
The Chamber was growing in leaps and bounds, and they were strong. So, so strong. Now all they needed was the right opportunity. She was patient. She did not plan to create the opportunity (though she would push pieces as needed, certainly). Rather, she simply planned to take the opportunity when it came. As she did with her throne. As she’s done all her life to get her to where she is. More importantly, to get the Chamber to where it is. They have slumbered far too long. Beqanna has forgotten to fear them.
“It’s good to have you home. I imagine there will be much you can do to help us.” Straia wanted to pick her brain, to see what ideas Ana might have, what useful stories she might be able to tell. She wanted to use Ana as an advisor, at least of sorts. She didn’t hand out titles likely, but she didn’t think Ana sought a title. Just to serve the Chamber. But of course, now is not the time for plotting and planning. Now is simply a time for Ana to meet the kingdom, to settle in. They’d have to catch up later.
Killdare snorted, a response to the directness of it all, his breath pooling and collecting the shadows. The bay shifted his position, the muggy earth squelching beneath his daggers. It filled his nostrils with damp as he rounded the flank of the gilded femme, settling in between her and Straia. Sea glass orbs scan the mare that stood before them more carefully. There was no reason to worry of the newcomer biting, he felt that if she decided to, there would be little he could do in counter. Though he held her in respectful regard, his eyes no longer demean the grey vix, they simply consider her. ”Anaxarete, pleasure.” He dipped his star adorned crown, ever the one for formalities.
He himself could even be proud of the turnout. The Chamber did not disappoint, a fair portion of the herd had filtered between the pines, as they should. Each movement symbolizing their strength, beauty, and courage. If nothing else, the Chamberlings did not lack for perseverance, nor teamwork. He was of the notion that most of them had assembled into a cohesive unit, all with the same underlying purpose. Serve the Chamber. However, there was newness still in their ranks. Firstly, Erebor had arrived, well, he had arrived looking like he had spent much too much time in a vineyard. His coat was a deep red, with hues of sky and moss woven through his mane. He did his best to not linger long on the Prince’s new dye job, he hadn’t known the circumstance. Besides, it was rude to stare. Even if the horse in question had received them often enough regardless.
The next thing to catch his gaze was the return of the General, Warship. Killdare had yet a chance to meet the veteran, though he had wished very much to do so. The black stag’s chest was aglow with a marking, one he did not recognize. He would have to remember to converse with the warrior later, for now was not the time. What brought the most interest to the bulky cross, was the sorcerer’s final words. She had returned to serve the Chamber, and that brought a smirk to his chiseled jaw.
